mark for mark and sin for sin
by midnightluck
Summary: Marco nods. "Having had the Scrawl means that if Ace is sick, he'll be covered in ink till he's better, yoi. It's all stuff people will have said about him to his face, isn't it?" (Now with small ASL and amnesia!Sabo!)
1. i knew this would happen

_written for an anon prompt on my tumblr._

* * *

"I'm not sick," Ace says stubbornly. "I'm a fire logia. I can't get sick." And then he sneezes, sharp and sudden.

"Bad timing, with that sickness you don't have," Thatch says. "We've still got two more days out here."

"I know; don't worry," Ace says, scooting back from the fire. "I'll just run hot for a while and be fine."

"Does that work?" Haruta asks, leaning away from him and the heat he's suddenly throwing.

"Dunno," Ace answers. "I haven't been sick since I ate my fruit. Honestly thought I was immune."

He doesn't look happy, and Thatch can see why. Being sick is always miserable, and worse if you're not used to it. He knows he packed an extra blanket, though, because Marco denies his nesting tendencies and yet always ends up stealing everyone's bedding. He digs it out and hands it over. Ace glances at him and he shrugs. "If you want it," he offers, and sets it on the ground.

Ace reaches for it, then pauses to stare at his hand for a second. Thatch doesn't get a chance to follow suit because suddenly the blanket is flipped open and wrapped around bare shoulders.

Thatch and Marco share a worried glance. Ace never uses blankets, and he doesn't accept help that easily either. And Ace isn't even using it like a blanket; he's got it wrapped around his back and over his head like a makeshift cape.

"You sure you're feeling all right?" Thatch ventures.

"I can't be sick," Ace says, but he's just a lump of blanket now. "I can't."

"Because you're fire?" Marco asks.

"I'm from East Blue," Ace says like it's an explanation, but it really isn't. It's interesting, but as far as Thatch knows, there's nothing about East Blue that makes its residents any hardier. The five of them exchange glances, but they must agree with him, because Haruta drawls out, "Yeah…?"

The lump of blanket twitches and hesitates but finally says, "I had the Scrawl."

"The what now?" Vista asks. Thatch stops to think, but there's actually not many on the crew from East Blue; it's by far the most peaceful sea.

But Marco makes an _oh_ kind of noise. "There's a disease in East Blue," he says, because of course he knows. "Childhood thing, like chicken pox or flower fever. It's really bad but almost never fatal, yoi. It compromises the immune system for the rest of your life, though," and there's some worried looks until he adds, "not harmfully! But when you get sick, it comes back, yoi."

"Oh!" Namur interrupts, "It's the ink sickness!" Marco arches an eyebrow at him, and he nods. "I've seen it before in certain parts of Paradise. That's out East Blue way; probably spread from the Grand Line somehow."

That sounds likely, actually. It's the kind of thing that makes only Grand Line levels of sense, after all, but Namur's not done. "We were taught it was a curse that went wrong, back in my tribe. Some rich man in a castle said something rude, and he was cursed to wear other people's words on his skin or something."

Marco nods and takes the story back. "The Scrawl means that if Ace is sick, he'll be covered in ink till he's better, yoi. It's all stuff people will have said about him to his face, isn't it?"

Ace says nothing, but Namur nods. "Stuff said about you in your hearing that you believe," he clarifies. "My niece had it as a kid. Always real proud when she gets sick because she says wearing complements is the best accessory."

The blanket twitches again, and Thatch steps in. "We're gonna respect Ace's privacy," he announces. "If he's really sick and he gets all decorated up with complements, we're not gonna try to read them, okay?"

He glances around, but everyone's staring at him. "What?" he asks.

Marco shakes his head. "Didn't expect that from you, is all," he says, and Thatch puffs himself up.

"I'm very mindful of people's privacy!" he says, and everyone laughs at him. Well, that's not nice at all, but at least it broke the mood. "I am!"

"Sure you are," Ace says, finally talking again. He's got the blanket pulled back enough to show his face and it's just as it always was. "You respect privacy, and I'm never hungry."

Thatch clutches his chest and falls over with his other wrist over his eyes. "Betrayed!" he gasps, because if keeping eyes on him is what's getting Ace to calm down, he will gladly flop around overdramatically for the rest of the night.

And it works, because as they chat and pick at Thatch, Ace's makeshift hood comes down. He falls asleep well before the rest of them, and whether it's a narcolepsy attack or just exhaustion, no one says anything when Marco leans over to tug the blanket into place, covering all his skin.

* * *

Thatch blinks himself awake in the morning light. Right, they're outside, coming back from that thing-right. He yawns and sits up; he's never been slow to rise. Years as head chef on a pirate ship mean he's generally up first.

Sure enough, everyone else is asleep. It's false dawn, so it's to be expected. He gets up anyway, stretching and looking around.

The fire's gone out; someone must've banked it last night. He goes over to check on Ace, but the kid is curled into as small a ball as possible. The blanket's ridden up over his feet, though, and Thatch can see jagged black streaks even from here. He steps forward, intending to tug the blanket down, but he can't get close; the air around Ace is painfully hot.

Well, Marco can do it when he wakes up, Thatch decides. He's got some time to kill, anyway; may as well take a walk. He might find a good place to watch the sunrise from; that'd be nice.

Well, he doesn't see the sunrise, but he does find a tree with a bunch of those lovely purple fruits they had back in town. He picks enough to hand around for breakfast and a few more to take back to Pops.

By the time he gets back, everyone's awake and up. "Good morning!" he says, and starts throwing fruits at people.

Haruta catches the first one in the face, but everyone else manages to grab theirs out of the air. Namur tosses his right back, and Thatch catches it easily and passes it on to Marco to give to Ace.

He drops the rest on his blanket and rolls them up carefully to take back. When he makes room in his sack, though, his fingers come across a marker that's always at the bottom of his pack, and he takes it out before packing the fruit in.

He walks it through his fingers as he wanders over to Marco, who's standing above Ace. "How is he?"

Marco makes a face and together they stare down at the blanket-covered kid. "You gotta get up eventually," Thatch tells him.

The unhappy grumbling and shifting says that Ace does not agree, and the heat he's putting out is enough to stop Thatch from trying to, uh, help. "Look, we'll all turn away or something, okay? You can keep the blanket."

Ace doesn't move, and Thatch gives up. "You do it, Marco," he says. "You're the fireproof one."

"I'm not fireproof." Marco says even as he walks right into the heat haze like it's nothing.

"Sure," Haruta says, walking by, and Thatch catches their wrist. "Hey, what're you-"

Thatch holds a finger over his lips and then wiggles the marker. Haruta's eyes light up and they nod. "Yeah, can you-"

"Shhh!"

"We ready, yoi?" Marco walks purposefully between them, trailing what's probably Ace. Hard to tell under the blanket cloak, but there's one hand poking out to clutch it closed with a bold _brat_ across the back of it.

Thatch darts his eyes away, feeling kind of bad. He hadn't meant to read it, really, but it's hard not to. He lets Ace and Marco go first, shouldering his pack and falling in step with Haruta.

There's more black peeking out of the top of Ace's boots where the blanket doesn't quite cover, and Thatch keeps his gaze anywhere else. It's an awkward kind of quiet, much different from yesterday's bawdy jokes and loud off-key marching songs. Now the only sounds are the nature around them and occasional violent sneezes.

Haruta tugs at his sleeve, and they pass the marker back and forth for awhile. Thatch waves it behind them and Vista reaches out to take it, too. He promptly tries to use it on Namur, and there's a quick scuffle.

It's loud enough for Marco to turn around, though. He walks backwards for a few steps, looking them all over. "Everything okay, yoi?"

"Just fine," Haruta lies breezily.

Marco stares at them for a few steps, so Thatch makes a spinny-finger gesture at him. He huffs but complies, and leans in a bit to mutter something to the Ace-like thing shambling along beside him. It's probably about how dumb they are, but that's okay.

"How does he do it?" Vista asks. "I can feel the heat from all the way back here."

Ace sneezes again and said heat flares, and everyone but Marco flinches and falls back a few steps. "Marco likes fire," Thatch says, hoping he's right. "He doesn't mind. Probably feels right at home."

"Any hotter and he's gonna combust," Haruta mutters, and like their words were a trigger, Ace sneezes once again, the heat flares, and the blanket on his back catches fire.

They all jump and Vista says something exceptionally nasty. Marco moves in, hands hovering uselessly, and Ace whips the blanket off to beat out the flame.

Thatch wasn't expecting it, really, which is why he doesn't look away in time-that's totally why. It's not his fault, he knows, and yet when his eyes catch on the giant letters across the back of Ace's shoulders, above his tattoo, he still feels like he's betraying something.

He feels that for the whole time it takes to unconsciously read and process the word _monster_ , and then he just goes still. Ace is turned away, stomping out the flames, and they all know at a glance what exactly it was that Ace hadn't wanted them to see.

His tattoo stands out as much as ever, but it's framed now. Monster at the top, all the way across both shoulders, and underneath in a beautiful scrollwork there's _should've been drowned at birth_.

 _Thank god you don't exist_ crawls down his ribs, and there's one word sentiments scattered around, all stark and pretty in concept and horrifying in meaning. Thatch, for all his good intentions, can't bring himself to look away and his ears are full of the echo of Namur's voice saying, _stuff said about you in your hearing that you believe._

" _Ace_ ," Marco says, quiet and hurt, and Ace's shoulders go rigid under that horrible ink. He turns slowly to face them, smouldering blanket in one fist. There's defiance in his eyes and _mistake_ across his freckles.

Someone next to Thatch makes a wheezing sound, but he doesn't look to see who because when Ace turns his head and tilts his chin up in anger, they can all read _should do the world a favor and die_ circling his throat.

He's a tapestry of horror and cruelty, and it's all on display. Thatch's eyes wander and the only remotely positive things he finds are the two _brother_ s, curved dense and close over his heart, and _captain_ curled over one wrist.

And then Ace falters. "What…?" he says, staring at Haruta, and Thatch glances over to where he'd written _family_ across their forehead. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

In the face of this, though, their marker attempts look stupid and insulting. "Sorry," Thatch says, and holds out the marker. "I had it and it seemed like-I'm sorry, I didn't know…."

Ace blinks at them. "Why would you…?" he asks, confusion plain, and that hurts almost more than the words do. _Things you believe_ , Thatch thinks again, and he's suddenly angry.

"Because we're your family, Ace," he says. "And you were sick and scared of-and we wanted to make it even! And I never had the Scrawl but I do have a marker, and if you don't believe us enough to get our words on your skin, then cut back the heat and I'll put 'em there myself!"

Ace's chin comes down a bit; he's defensive but actually listening. "It doesn't...that's not how it works."

"Shut up," Marco snaps, and Thatch tosses him the marker. He uncaps it and steps in, ignoring Ace's flinch. "If what's true is on your skin, yoi, then what's on your skin is true." And he writes _family_ , big and bold, under his left collarbone and right over _you're a curse_.

"Loved," Thatch lists, and Ace flinches again but stays still while Marco grabs his arm to write that over print small enough that Thatch can't read it from here.

"Cute," Haruta adds, and Ace goes a deeper red than a fever would account for. Marco nods and puts it right under the double _brother_.

"Hey now," he says, trying to pull away, but Marco's not having it. "Hey!" he says again, but he stops struggling, and when Marco pulls at his shoulder to spin him around, he goes.

His shoulders are tense and high when Marco puts marker to skin, but as _Whitebeard_ goes over _monster_ , he relaxes a bit. "This really isn't-"

Marco draws a long line through the awful sentence below his tattoo, and then does a few more just to black it out completely. He sets to work crossing out things and writing better ones, and Ace stands there, still holding the blanket, and lets him.

And then Vista shakes himself and says, "Give him a tramp stamp."

"What?!"

"Oh, yes, do!" Haruta adds. "Make it say 'pretty'!"

"No!" Ace says, stepping forward and turning. "No, that's not-we're done…!" He's still surrounded by a heat haze that makes it impossible to approach, but Marco steps forward anyway.

"Come back here, yoi," he says, and Ace tries to flee.

He makes it a few steps before Marco tackles him and sits on his legs. He puts the marker to work again as Ace claws at the ground and yells about how pretty he isn't, and he only stops to sneeze three times.

"When you're not too hot to approach, you can return the favor," Namur points out, and when Ace immediately goes quiet he adds, "but it was Thatch's idea!"

"Was not!" Thatch squawks, turning on him. "Haruta drew first!"

"You gave me the marker!"

"You used it!"

And it's the dumbest argument Thatch has had in a long time, because yeah, he's obviously at fault. He's got _idiot_ on one forearm and _brother_ on his wrist and _all right at cooking, I guess_ , on the back of his neck in permanent marker, but up ahead, Ace is laughing, and that's more than worth it.


	2. it's totally the death plague

_for an anon prompt on my tumblr, and also Icewing5 for the cool idea. Maybe one more in this au for Wordlet? We'll see! Thanks for all the lovely reviews; I love you all!  
_

* * *

"Are you sick?" Ace demands.

"No!" Sabo says, and Ace just stares at him. "Okay, fine; maybe a little."

"Ugh, no, go away," Ace says, flopping back down into the grass. "Come back when you're better."

"But today's when we're supposed to go over–!"

"Nope! I am not catching whatever you have, Sabo! Go away!"

"It's just a sniffle! We can still–"

"Nope, nope, no, get your gross face away from me! It's leaking!" But Sabo just tackles him and smears his disgusting face liquids all over Ace's shirt. "You're disgusting," Ace says, but he also gives up.

"It's just a sniffle," Sabo says again, but Ace can feel the heat of his skin even through all those layers.

"Liar," Ace says fondly, but he doesn't try to get up. A nap sounds pretty nice right now anyway.

* * *

He opens his eyes sometime later but he's still dreaming. There's a turning swirl of blue and green above him and the grass is suddenly sharp like needles.

"I'm awake," he says, but he doesn't believe it.

"M'too," Sabo says beside him, or something like it. "Awake. Yeah."

They lay there a while longer, and Ace stares upwards with eyes full of blur. A bird screams a ways off and there's cicada song loud in his right ear.

Then Sabo rolls over and groans. "Ace," he says, "I think I'm sick."

"Me too," Ace echoes. "But this is your fault."

"I don't wanna go home," Sabo says, ignoring him entirely. "I can't be sick at home."

Ace met Sabo only a while back, and he's the closest and only friend Ace has ever had. They've talked about sailing away and have plans to start a stash of money, but they never talk about personal things, not really, so Ace never wondered if Sabo had somewhere safe to be sick.

Ace should probably to go back to Dadan's anyway. He doesn't want to, but he does know better than to wander through the forest when the horizon isn't staying steady.

He manages to sit up and squints forward into the tree line. His everything hurts, but the world's staying more or less level now. "I'm gonna go," he says and doesn't move.

"There's something on your face," Sabo says. He reaches over to try to rub it off, but misses. "Hey, stay still."

"I am," Ace protests, which is even true. Probably.

Sabo's fingers poke his cheek, and then rub. And then rub harder. "It's not coming off," he says, and Ace scowls.

"They're freckles; they don't come off."

"No, the–the word. Where'd you get a marker anyway?"

Ace stares at him. Sabo's face is a bit red and his eyes are swollen. "You look awful," he says.

"Focus, Ace," Sabo demands, snapping his fingers. "Where's the marker?"

"I don't have one," Ace says. His hearing is dull on the left side. That's–is that normal? "I think I'm sick."

Sabo makes a huffing sound and says, "Oh boy. Have you got somewhere you can go?"

Oh, right. He ought to get to Dadan's. They may not care, but they also won't care if he curls up in a corner for a few days to ride this out. "Yeah, let's go," Ace says, and stands up. He does it carefully and slowly, and the second he's upright he sneezes so hard he almost falls over.

When his eyes clear again, Sabo's right next to him. "C'mon," he says, grabbing a blue sleeve.

"Are you sure?" Sabo asks. "I can come with you?"

Ace scowls and takes a step. Not as hard as he'd thought; walking will be okay. "You'd better. This is your fault and you can't make me sicker anyway, so you at least have to help me get better."

Sabo says nothing, but he grabs Ace's arm and together they find a swaying balance that gets them all the way to the hideout.

Ace pushes open the door and heads right into the back. He walks past someone who says something, so he stops and looks around.

Magra is staring at him, so Ace raises his chin. "I'm sick," he says. "I'm gonna sleep in the back room for a while."

Magra blinks. "Oh, is that the Scrawl?" He comes forward, hand out, but Ace flinches back, hissing.

He'd forgot Sabo was behind him, but Sabo manages to catch them both before they fall. "It's the plague," Ace lies shamelessly.

"Looks like the Scrawl to me," Magra says, but he doesn't try to touch again. "If it is, it'll pass in a few days. It's easy to catch if you've never had it before, but you can't catch it again."

"Is that why Ace has words on him?" Sabo asks from behind him, quiet and tentative.

But if Magra notices or cares that there's a second brat where there was previously only one, he doesn't show it. "Yeah," he says instead. "It's like a summer cold, only words that people've said to you that you think are true appear."

Sabo makes a sound behind him, but Ace is looking down. One of his hands says _brat_ , big and bold, and if his grandpa is the worst this disease has to offer, that's more than fine.

"But it's not fatal," Sabo says, and Ace looks over. Sabo's hands are clean. "And it's passing?"

Magra nods. "Yeah, head on into the back room. We've all had the Scrawl before, I bet, so we can't catch it. I think we got an extra blanket around, too," and he wanders off.

Ace watches him go for a second, then looks back to Sabo. "This way," he says, and tugs on Sabo's fingers. They stumble over the high threshold, but in the back corner is the mess of sacks and old clothes that Ace sleeps on when he's here.

It's too small for both of them and too hot to curl together, but they do anyway. Sabo's big stupid hat is somewhere on the floor because it keeps poking Ace in the face, and Ace falls into a fitful sleep, restless and dizzying.

He slides into awareness later. How much later he doesn't know or care, but it's dark-ish and there's a coarse blanket over both of them.

"Sabo," Ace says, reaching out to poke.

"Hm'wzt'mp," Sabo says, then rolls over enough to mash his face into the ground. "Go 'way."

"Sabo," Ace says again, ignoring all that. His friend's skin is hot to the touch, and his hand doesn't feel like his own. "You're real, right?"

"-kinda dumb question-" Sabo mutters, and opens one fever-bright eye to look up at him. "We're both real."

There's _brat_ on his hand and _son of a monster_ on his other wrist, and as he watches, swirls of ink are settling into more words on his arm. It doesn't feel real at all.

He looks back over and Sabo's pushing himself up, eyes stuck on Ace's cheeks.

That's right, there's a word there, isn't there? "What does it say?" he asks, and looks over Sabo's skin again.

"Nothing," Sabo says, but he reaches out to trace the letters and Ace can almost tell anyway.

But this isn't at all fair; Sabo's skin is clear. There's no words, no ink, and when Ace reaches out to turn his arms over, they're still clean. "I got this from you," he says. "We both have this, the writing thing! So why don't you have words?"

Sabo shifts, and his eyes are a sick kind of shiny. "I do," he says like a secret. "I have two."

Talk about unfair, when he has a whole speech on his forearm. "Only two?"

"Yeah," Sabo says. "I found 'em earlier, and one of 'em's yours."

"Only two?" Ace repeats, voice higher and tighter than intended.

"Things you hear that you believe," he repeats, leaning in too close and breathing fast and hot. "Who talks about me, Ace? Cause we don't; we're too busy. My parents don't; they prefer to pretend I don't exist, and the stuff they do say–I know it isn't true. You're the only one who talks to me, Ace, and no one talks about me."

He's panting now, and it's not fair–Ace is covered in words and Sabo has none, and that's–"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me my word."

Sabo stares at him, so Ace pokes at him 'til he moves. He reaches up, slow, like Ace is gonna change his mind, but Ace just waits.

And Sabo finally tugs that dumb napkin he wears loose, and there, right in the hollow of his throat, is a rough _liar_.

"I didn't mean it," Ace says, and he can't tell if the low-level nausea is the sickness or shame. "I didn't mean it like that, Sabo, I didn't–"

"I know," Sabo says, and ties it back up. "It's fine anyway," but he's looking away and rubbing one hand over his stomach. "It's good that my other one's not the only–"

Ace surges forward and grabs at his shirt. Sabo protests but Ace gets it high enough to see the beautiful cursive _worthless_ that follows the bend of the ribcage.

Sabo scoots back and smooths his shirt down and Ace lets him go. They both sit in silence for a while, then Ace says, "You're worthwhile."

Sabo smiles at him, a bit sad.

"You're great, Sabo," Ace says earnestly. "You're strong and brave and you've saved my life; you're literally a life-saver," and then he holds his breath and watches blank skin stay blank. "It's all true! Why isn't it working?"

"Because it doesn't matter if _you_ think it's true," Sabo says, so very gently.

"But you're–I–"

"It's okay, Ace," Sabo tells him, with his shiny eyes and red face and puffy nose. "Don't worry about it for now. Go back to sleep."

"No," Ace says. "I'm gonna–" He starts to get up, and Sabo throws his weight against his shoulders.

"You can't fight a sickness," Sabo tells him, but Ace is gonna try anyway.

"I'm gonna punch it," Ace says, struggling weakly to get up. He's hot and hurting, and then he sneezes, loud and sudden and all over Sabo.

Sabo blinks. "You're gross," he says, but he grabs Ace's shirt to wipe his face with, so if anyone here is gross, it's him.

"Whatever," Ace says, giving up. He'll punch the disease later. In a bit, after the world resettles and maybe a nap. He puts his wrist over his eyes to block out the little light that's left.

"Ace…" Sabo says, and he's still holding Ace's shirt up. He's probably reading more things, but Ace doesn't want to know.

"Sleeping," he announces. "So I can stand up so I can punch the sickness."

Sabo makes a sound and then lets his shirt fall. "Sure, sounds good," he says. "I'll back you up."

"Course you will," Ace says, and yawns massively. "You've always got my back."

There's a moment quiet enough for Ace to dip into darkness, but he makes sure to get in the last word, because after all, "This is your fault, anyway."

Sabo huffs and taps his shoulder. "Go to sleep, dork," he says, and Ace does.

* * *

"Hey, Luffy," Ace says, many years later. "You know you're our precious little brother, right?"

"And that we love you and know you'll become the Pirate King?" Sabo adds.

Luffy sniffs and looks up at both of them. "Of course I know! Shishishi!" and that's it. He doesn't ask why or doubt them; just takes it at face value, and Ace and Sabo exchange looks over his head.

"You're really special," Sabo says fondly, slinging an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a sideways hug.

"One of a kind," Ace says.

Luffy smiles at them both, and then he sneezes again.


	3. it's only extremely contaigous, I swear

_For Wordlet, who wanted to see this and gave great ideas for the words._

"Sabo! Get up! You're already late for-oh shit."

Sabo groans and turns over, dropping his wrist over his eyes. "Oh shit isn't on my schedule for today," he says because he's a brat, and oh, look, his hand agrees with him.

Oh, his hand agrees with him. Huh. "I guess I'm sick," he says.

"You're what?" Koala says, but she doesn't come closer.

"I'm sick," Sabo announces loudly. "So I'm going back to sleep." And then he does.

A cool hand rests on his forehead and he blinks his way into wakefulness. "Wh," he gets out before his tongue decides it's not working.

His throat is dry and painful and his tongue feels about three sizes too big and wooden besides. "G'way," he says instead.

"I think he's sick," comes a voice from far away. It's probably Koala, so he bares his teeth in what's only nominally a grin.

"Sick," he agrees, and waves his hand as proof.

Something grabs his hand. "What's this?" a soothing voice asks from slightly closer. "Have you been playing with markers again?"

"Sick," he emphasizes, then takes his hand back, turns his back on the room and pulls the covers over his head. "Don't wanna."

"Have you been drawing on yourself?" Probably-Koala asks from a lot closer. "Hey, Sabo, this is important. Did you give yourself ink poisoning?"

They're not just gonna let him mope, obviously, so he sighs, long and loud, then rolls back over and sits up. There's a water bottle on the nightstand and he grabs it, because if he's gotta be awake and talking, he can at least get rid of the cottonmouth.

Koala makes some kind of noise while he's drinking and he thinks nothing of it until her hand lands on the hollow of his throat. He freezes, mouth full of water and bottle upturned, and waits.

"What's this?" she asks, finally pulling her hand back a bit.

He lowers the bottle and swallows. "What's what?"

Her finger traces something on his skin. It's a word, he knows, and he can almost tell what it is, because it's the most important one. "I'm sick," he says for a third time, squinting around at them. Why is this a hard concept to grasp?

"Yes, but the words," Koala says and Jun the medic lays a hand on Sabo's forehead. Sabo stares at them, and they stare back. Koala rolls her eyes and says, "Normal people don't get words when they're sick, Sabo! What did you do?"

"What do you mean?" he asks. "Of course they do. It's what happens when you're sick."

"No it's not! Jun, you're the medic, tell him!"

"You must be from East Blue, Sabo."

"Huh?"

"This is actually a common thing over there, and in the East part of Paradise. It's an ink sickness, a kid thing, but if you get it then whenever you're sick, it comes back like this."

"Huh," Sabo says, turning his hand over to trace the rough _brat_ there. "I wasn't surprised."

"Maybe you think it's normal, if you've had it since childhood," Jun says, and digs into his bag. "Looks like just a cold to me."

"I don't get colds," Sabo says.

Koala slaps her hand over his mouth, the promptly removes it before he can retaliate. "I'll make him take the medicine," she says, and holds out her other hand.

Jun drops in a few pills. "Just fever reducer," he says. "It's about all I can offer for now."

Koala hands two pills to Sabo, who sulks and takes them only reluctantly. She stares at him 'til he takes them, though, and folds her arms while waiting for him to swallow.

He doesn't cheek the medicine and instead swallows it like a good boy.

It leaves a sour kind of chalk taste behind and he drains the rest of the water to wash it out. Koala heaves a put-upon sigh, but she also grabs the bottle out of his hand and goes to refill it, so she can't truly be that mad.

Jun leans in, once she's gone. "It really should pass on its own," he says. "Get some rest, drink water, take the pills if you start to ache, and you'll be better in no time."

Sabo nods at him. "And this ink stuff...?"

"Doesn't make any difference, really," Jun says, and picks his bag back up. "It's just an immunoexpressive response, is all."

"Cool," Sabo says, and swings his legs off the bed.

Jun eyes him, sighs, and says, "You know what, good luck. Let me know if it gets worse, I guess."

"Of course I will," Sabo lies, and Jun shakes his head and leaves, closing the door behind him.

The second it clicks shut, Sabo slips his shirt up and off, heading towards the small mirror on the back of the door. There's clues on his skin, and he's not about to let this chance slip by.

It's all mirrored, of course, but his eyes catch on _liar_ , simple and scratched low on his throat. His hand raises on its own, and there's a smile on his lips as he presses fingers over it. There's other words, some even nice, but this one-he knows it's special.

A beautifully calligraphic _worthless_ winds the curve of his ribcage but it's not important. There's _brother_ , though, twice over, nestled just left of center on his chest in wildly different scripts, but they fit together like red and orange, like freckles and smiles.

A solid bold _reckless!_ is stamped big and straight on his right side, about halfway down, in familiar, all-caps writing, and _stubborn_ wraps around his bicep like an armlet. _Thief_ is there, too, small and pretty on the inside of his right wrist, with _scoundrel_ and _trouble_ stacked below it.

He turns to try to see his back, and yeah, there's a swooping swirl of _trustworthy_ that he guesses more from context than reading because it trails off into a patch of scarred skin. There's more under it, but it's too small and blotchy for him to read easily, and he shifts a bit more to try to see farther.

There's supposed to be a big word across small shoulders, he thinks, one single bold one too heavy for the back it's on, but he's only got delicate little flutters of complements on his right shoulderblade, splayed out like a wound.

He cranes his neck around to try to read some, but there's the heavy fall of boots coming back, and he hastily tugs his shirt back on and gets back in bed before the door can swing open.

Koala comes in, eyes suspicious, but that eases a bit on seeing him actually in bed. "Where's Jun?" she asks, and hands him the water back.

He takes a sip to buy a moment. "Left," he shrugs, and his fingers brush his inner right wrist.

She sighs and sits on his bed. "If you're sick, you really should rest."

"I was trying to," he reminds her. "I wanted to go back to sleep right away, but no, someone had to involve the medics."

"Yeah," she says. "I'm not gonna say sorry for that, though."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You're impossible!" she says, and then catches her breath. "Did that-does that hurt?"

Sabo blinks at her. "What?"

She reaches out and runs a soft thumb down his jawline. "It just came up," she says, and he runs the past bit of conversation back, then grins.

"Impossible, am I?"

She's not blushing, but only out of refusal to. "Any other words?" she asks, because of course she knows he'd looked.

"I'm an open book," he says, spreading his arms wide, and she laughs. "It feels familiar, though," he admits, and there's a warm feeling under his collarbones. "I think...they're new, though. Some of these I even remember."

She pauses, meeting his eyes, and then bulls straight through, because that's what he likes best about her. "Anything helpful?" she asks, knowing he won't answer.

But she cares about him and her words are on his skin, and his own in return is the least he can do.

So he tugs at his collar and undoes the top few buttons, pulling the fabric open far enough to frame his heart and the two _brother_ s there.

She hisses in sympathy but doesn't try to touch, and doesn't offer any kind of empty platitude. She only waits him out, and then asks, "Do you remember?"

He tries, honestly. He really does. There's something there, coated in sunshine and bordered in green, but it's hazy and fleeting. "No," he finally says, and adds the only thing he's sure of. "These are new."

"New?"

"Something's missing," he says, and thinks of brothers and liars. "I'm missing something."

And this is why he trusts her-she's sympathetic but not pitying. "You'll find it one day," she says, and he can almost believe her.

Still, she's also a spy, by nature and nurture, and he can tell her eyes are starting to wander and look for more bits on ink, so he coughs, loud and fake. "Hey, I do remember something about this disease," he tells her once he can breathe again.

"Yeah?" she asks. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Oh yeah, but the thing is," he says, grinning big and bright, "It's _extremely_ contagious."

She stares at him for the few seconds that takes to process, and he reaches out with the hands he just coughed all over. "No!" she says, recoiling right off the bed. "Ew, no! Don't you dare!"

"I thought you were supposed to make me feel better!" He leans over as far as he can without falling, stretching and reaching for her. "It's only germs, Koala! It's not fatal or dangerous at all! Koala! Come back!"

 _headcanon says that having a tattoo means you can't catch it because magical ink? but shhhh Koala doesn't know that_


End file.
